Paradise Sky

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “I got them both,” Pinocchio Joe said. “But I’m starting to think one of them was that little shit Doolittle.”

  “Which one?” said a voice from the cave, which I recognized as belonging to Ruggert.

  “The one hopping, I figure.”

  “What the hell was he hopping for?”

  “He might have thought it was funny.”

  “He ain’t laughing now, is he? Didn’t you know it was him?”

  “I thought the other one was him, but then I seen he was taller. I’d already shot Doolittle by then, so how tall one was to the other don’t really matter.”

  “Who the hell is the other one?”

  “I don’t know no more than you do.”

  “Well, least make sure Doolittle’s dead,” Ruggert said. “You shot him, you finish him. We’ll call it an accident if we got to call it anything. It makes dividing the money easier. And see who that other fucker was. See if you know him.”

  “Why don’t you go out and take a look?”

  “Cause I’m the goddamn boss.”

  “Boss of what? Ain’t nobody left but me and you.”

  “Don’t get no ideas, Joe. I ain’t going to hop up and down till you shoot me. I might prove a bit more trouble.”

  Pinocchio Joe stood there as if thinking to respond. I was leaning tight against the shadowed wall, and if Pinocchio Joe didn’t turn and look right at me, he wasn’t going to see me. I held my breath.

  Pinocchio Joe tracked across the clearing to where Choctaw and Doolittle lay. I took a quick study of my situation, and as I was putting together what I should do, for some reason or another, Pinocchio Joe turned and looked back just as I was moving out of the shadows of the rock wall with my rifle.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said when he saw me.

  Ruggert yelled out of the cave, “What did you call me?”

  It was then I brought my rifle up and started cocking it fast as I could. I had the lever pushed so that each time I cocked it, it hit the trigger. I must have missed him three times, but I figure I got him on four. He went down in the grass and started cussing.

  “You got me in the nuts, you coward. You shot my goddamn nuts.”

  “I was aiming for your goddamn pecker,” I said. “You in the cave. You better stay put.”

  “Willie?” came Ruggert’s voice. “Is that you?”

  “It is,” I said, “and your hide is tanned.”

  “You ain’t got me yet,” he said.

  “I’m laying out here shot in the balls and you’re having a talk with this bastard,” Pinocchio Joe said. He had started to roll around on the ground a little.

  “It’s that nigger I told you about,” Ruggert said.

  “I don’t care,” Pinocchio Joe said. “I got a bullet in my sack.”

  All the time Pinocchio Joe was rattling on, I had been moving with my back against the rocks, toward the mouth of the cave. Pinocchio Joe might have thought I wouldn’t notice he was trying to get up on his knees with his rifle. But I noticed. I was just waiting for him to set up high enough I could pick him off.

  When he rose up suddenly and the rifle lifted, I popped off a shot. He shot, too. His shot went wild, but mine hit him. He fell back in the grass and yelled out, “Now I’m shot in the goddamn neck. I’m dying in the rain. Oh, Jesus. I got blood in my mouth.” Then I heard Pinocchio gurgle, and then he was silent and still. I watched toward the mouth of the cave to see if Ruggert was coming out on me, which he didn’t, and then I darted my eyes out to where Pinocchio Joe lay, hoping he wasn’t playing possum. He didn’t move, but I decided to put another shot into him to make sure. I shot him twice, actually. He didn’t so much as flinch either time. I was counting him dead from that moment on.

  “Ruggert, I’m coming in after you.”

  “Then come ahead. I’ll put on the coffee, you black bastard.”

  I heard the cattle and horses stirring inside the cave. Those shots had gotten them worked up.

  I leaned my rifle against the wall and pulled the LeMat and put the lever on the shotgun load, then I put it back and loosened the Colt in its holster. I picked up the rifle again. I considered for a moment.

  “Well, you coming in, or do I need to give you a piggyback ride?” Ruggert said.

  I took a deep breath and moved swiftly along the wall to the mouth of the cave and the bright burning fire. I poked the rifle inside and started cocking and pumping shots. The cows bellowed and the horses snorted and then they all went wild. I could hear them stomping around in there, and then one of the horses leaped through the fire, knocking big logs about. I heard more stomping inside, and then Ruggert yelled out in pain. I dropped the rifle, pulled both pistols, and stepped inside.

  There was a wall of cows, and they near knocked me down, running in a circle as they was. The cave was small, but I could see between the dancing shadows of cow bodies and flickering firelight that there was a kind of drop-off at the rear. I could hear Ruggert screaming down there, so I knew he had been knocked into it by those frightened critters. They was wide-eyed and getting crazy, and within an instant they all started toward me and the fire. I stepped back outside the cave as they came rushing out, sending logs and fire a’winding, sparks floating up into the wet night sky. The logs that was knocked outside the cave steamed white smoke in the rain.

  I watched the animals rush off across the clearing, tramping on Pinocchio Joe’s body so solidly I could hear his bones crack from where I stood. I waited a moment, then stepped inside. It was darker at the back of the cave, as the fire had been knocked about, so with my LeMat in one hand I picked up a burning stick with the other and used it to guide me back into the shadows.

  Ruggert was moaning down in that dark drop-off.

  At the drop-off I stuck the blazing stick over the edge and peeked down.

  “Had a little fall, did you?”

  A shot flared up and punched a hole through the brim of my hat.

  “I ain’t dead yet, nigger. I’m stomped on and broken, but I ain’t dead. I been burned and cut, shot and beat, and still I ain’t dead. But what I don’t understand is why in hell ain’t you dead.”

  “Ornery as you, I reckon,” I said.

  “I’ll second that, goddamn it. Ah, shit. I hurt.”

  “Ruggert,” I said. “I could just sit up here and wait you out, or you can give yourself up.”

  “And have you kill me?”

  “I wait you out, you’ll be dead, and I’ll haul your dead ass into Fort Smith just the same. I could kill you easy. Get some rocks and push them over on you. Fire down there with my pistols until I hit something with meat on it. I could drop this here firebrand down and shoot you in the light of it. Or you can give yourself up.”

  “You’d let me give up?”

  “I been talking to the preacher. He thinks I’ll do better about myself if I don’t kill for vengeance.”

  “Does he, now?”

  “I can’t say I’ve got Jesus, but I think he makes some sense there. You know I killed Golem?”

  “You did? That big, contrary son of a bitch? Well, damned if you ain’t the resourceful nigger.”

  “I got an ass full of resource.”

  “You could be lying to me, Willie.”

  “I assure you Golem’s dead.”

  “About bringing me in alive.”

  “I could be.”

  “You ruined my life.”

  “I didn’t do nothing to you. Who the hell cares about such a thing as someone seeing your wife’s clothed ass?”

  “I do.”

  “And what’s it got you? A burned-up face, some cut-up balls, and now you been stomped on by a cow. On top of that, you’re a wanted man. And you’ll love why I’m taking you in.”

  “The reward, I figure.”

  “That’s true, but I’m also a deputy marshal, and it’s my job.”

  “Now, I’ll be damned to hell if you’re a marshal.”

  “Have it your way.”

  “I g
ot another solution. I could shoot myself.”

  “Go on ahead. It’s nothing to me. You do it, I’m off the griddle. You give me trouble and I do it, I’m doing my job. And I could change my mind and feel less forgiving in the next five minutes. Hell, Ruggert. You get to choose. But you don’t choose soon, then I will kill you in the name of the law, and for Win, Madame, my pa, and a hog that never done nothing to you. And I’ll kill you for my mama just on general principles.”

  “I forgot about the hog,” he said. “Damn it, boy. Drop a rope over. Pull me out. I’ll go in with you.”

  “Your voice has got real sweet, but I don’t trust you. Let me tell you how we’re going to do it. I’m going to go check on my man. Then I’m going to come back, and you are going to throw your guns up here—”

  “I just got one. I dropped my rifle. You tend to do that when a fucking cow steps on you.”

  “I see it here on the ledge. You throw what guns you got up here, and then we’ll see about getting you out. How bad are you hurt?”

  “Leg’s twisted under me, coiled up like a rope. It hurts.”

  “It’ll get worse. Throw the gun up.”

  “I don’t trust you for shit.”

  “You might want to throw it up anyway. I walk away with this fire it’s going to get awful dark down there.”

  I grabbed the burning brand and started out the front of the cave. Ruggert yelled after me. “Don’t leave me down here, Willie.”

  I ignored him and went out of the cave to look at Choctaw. He was sitting up when I got there, holding the side of his head. The rain made my burning brand waver.

  I kneeled down next to him.

  “I got creased in the head,” he said. “There’s blood all over me.”

  “Move your hand.”

  He did, and I turned the brand in that direction. His ear had been cut in two. The bottom half dangled.

  “How’s it look?”

  “Your ear’s hanging by a strand. I can cut it loose for you.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  He put his hand back over his ear. “Help me up.”

  “Not just yet. You sit.”

  “Guess I can’t get no wetter.”

  I sauntered over to Doolittle. I waved the burning brand over him. He had collected quite a few bullets. His hat was pushed back on his head, and he had a look of surprise on his face. Part of the cloth gag hung down around his neck.

  I checked on Pinocchio Joe. Also dead.

  I went back and helped Choctaw up. I said, “Go in the cave. Stay away from that drop-off at the back. Ruggert’s down there. He’s still alive, and he’s got a gun. I’m going to get our horses. Can you make it?”

  “I can make it.” I gave him the torch, and I trotted after the horses.

  By the time I got back with the horses, Choctaw had built the fire up again. Logs that had been gathered up in the cave had been thrown on the fire. Cows and one of the horses was wandering around outside the cave like they wanted back in. We didn’t let them. The rain had stopped, and there was grass for them to eat. I unsaddled our horses, rubbed them down, hobbled them, fed them some of the grain we had left by putting it in the feed bags again.

  Choctaw had tied a white rag over his wounded head and blood was seeping through it. He had started heating up some beans. He never quit thinking about food, even with an ear shot off.

  “You cut off that strand of meat?”

  “No. I’m going to ask you a favor.”

  “First let me check on our friend in the hole.”

  I got a fresh brand out of the fire and went to the back of the cave. I said, “How you doing down there, asshole?”

  “Well, there’s too many women down here and a lot of free drink, and that’s getting old…How the hell do you think I’m doing?”

  “Toss your pistol up.”

  “I can’t toss it. I can’t get my legs under me, and it’s too high to just throw it up with my arm, without no leverage.”

  “Have it your way, then.”

  “I smell beans. Ain’t you going to feed me?”

  “Nope.”

  I eased back to Choctaw. Ruggert had started bellowing by then, partly in pain but mostly in anger.

  “He don’t shut up I’m going to shoot him, Nat, and I don’t never like to get involved in this business. Hell, how did I get shot? I didn’t mean to get into all this.”

  “Not very smart is my guess. Let my look at your ear.”

  “Listen here, Nat. I want you to sew it back on.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Sew it back on. I got some heavy thread and a needle. I want you to sew it on. You got some whiskey for me, don’t you? You said when the job was finished.”

  “I don’t know it’s finished.”

  “Ain’t it close enough?”

  I got my saddlebags and got a small bottle of whiskey out of one of them. I had wrapped the bottle in a lot of rags to keep it from getting broken easy. I brought it to Choctaw. He had moved closer to the fire and had pulled a needle and thick black thread out of a bag he had tied to his belt under his slicker.

  “This is going to hurt,” I said.

  “Give me a snort.”

  He uncorked the whiskey and took a swig. “Oh, that tastes good. You know what you should tell me before you stick that needle in me?”

  “What?”

  “What the Irishman tells his wife on their wedding night. Brace yourself.”

  I threaded the needle, then poured whiskey over it and stuck the needle over the fire until my finger and thumb started heating up. I dripped whiskey over my fingers and the needle again, leaned in close to Choctaw, and removed the rag from his head.

  “No guarantees, Choctaw.”

  “Sew it on tight. I was a kid, I had a dog got its ear tore off by a bobcat. My daddy sewed that ear back on, and it grew back.”

  “You ain’t a dog,” I said.

  “Go on ahead and do it, Nat.”

  “Brace yourself, honey. Here I come.”

  Choctaw found a stick, put it in his mouth, and leaned his head against the cave wall. I sewed, all the while listening to Ruggert screaming in pain down there in that hole. Choctaw didn’t make a sound.

  That stitching made me ill, the way the needle would slide through that near cut-off ear and the flesh on the side of Choctaw’s head, but I tell you I did a right nice job. It took me a long time to do it, though, as I had to make many a stitch to get that sucker back on. It looked a little tighter to his head than his other ear, and that worried me some, but I figured it was better to leave it as it was than to cut it loose and stitch it some more. I was running out of room to poke the needle. I poured whiskey over the whole operation, gave Choctaw some to drink, then wrapped a fresh bandage around his head.

  Not for one moment during this entire operation had Ruggert quit caterwauling down there in that hole. It made me sick to hear it, what with a bloody ear to sew back on, and him howling like a dog, I could hardly eat my beans once they was warm. But I did. Choctaw ate his usual three plates full.

  Next time I asked Ruggert to toss up his gun, he tried to, and it took him three tries to get it to the edge, where I could catch it. Choctaw felt spry enough to have me tie my rope to him and lower him down. I had a couple of firebrands on the side of the hole, and they gave some light down there. It was a pretty good drop. Twenty feet or more, I reckon.

  “Well,” Choctaw called up. “The good news for you is his leg is broken. The bad news for him is his leg is broken.”

  “Oh, shut up and pull me out of here,” Ruggert said.

  “He wants out,” Choctaw said.

  “You bastards,” Ruggert said. “Pull me out of this hole.”

  Choctaw tied the rope around him and then helped him as I pulled him up, Ruggert screamed in pain all the way to the top. I dragged him against the wall and looked him over for weapons, but he didn’t have any on him. His leg was like a limp dishrag. I had removed my slicker, and Rugger
t looked at the badge on my shirt.

  When Ruggert got his breath back, he said, “You really are a marshal.”

  “I am,” I said.

  I untied the rope from him, used it to pull Choctaw up.

  It was bright in the cave with that big fire, and Choctaw used the light to look Ruggert’s leg over. “Well, if you was one that could do the reel on the dance floor, you ain’t going to do it again. You might can skip a little.”

  “Up to Judge Parker’s trapdoor,” I said.

  Choctaw and I tried to take turns sleeping, but Ruggert was in such pain he moaned and carried on all night. First light Choctaw got his hatchet and went out and cut some limbs to bind up Ruggert’s leg. Ruggert passed out when Choctaw set it straight and tied it up.

  In the meantime I went out and caught up two of the stolen horses and was able to herd up Bump’s two milk cows. They was anxious to let me milk them, they was in such pain, and I squatted down and did so, squirting the milk out on the ground. They had lots of it, and when I finished their tits was slack. They followed me like dogs to the mouth of the cave.

  The fire had gone out, and the morning was warming up when we put the bodies of Pinocchio Joe and Doolittle side by side across one of the horses I had caught. We got Ruggert mounted on another.

  We got our horses out of the tree line, and with the milk cows following us, we started out. We made Bump’s place by nightfall, returned the milk cows, and barely managed to keep him from killing Ruggert with a hoe. What worked to Ruggert’s advantage was Bump was still seeing double. Anyway, we left the cows, which Bump hugged a little too warmly for my taste, and went on a piece and pitched camp. We had thought about staying at Bump’s place but was afraid his vision would clear in the night and he’d chop Ruggert’s head off like a snake, or we would find him and his cows in positions that could embarrass all of us.

  Our camp was uncomfortable, as the ground was still wet, but it was what we had—a place under a tree laying on damp bedrolls. Ruggert moaned and cried and started complaining nonstop of how he couldn’t sleep, as he was in too much pain. After a bit Choctaw got his rifle and went over and hit Ruggert a solid blow in the head, said, “That will help him sleep.”